


Ceremonies for Honest Men

by RimauSuaLay



Category: Henry V (1989 movie)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RimauSuaLay/pseuds/RimauSuaLay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never his own man, a herald does as his master commands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceremonies for Honest Men

The summoning came late, after the evening meal was long past.  


"King Henry would like to speak with you in private, sir," the English nobleman who seemed more like a peasant than a noble declared from the door, not bothering even to enter the suite of rooms currently serving as the lodgings of the young French nobility.  


Outraged by the offensive way this man spoke to the Dauphin, d'Orleans leapt to his feet. "You will address the prince as your highness!" His hand moved immediately to his side, as if to reach for his sword which was no longer there. The gesture was futile, only reminding everyone in the room of their current position.  


Prisoners of the young King of England.  


Or as lord Exeter had said, guests, taking shelter from the rainy weather inside the castle, away from the battlefield, not held in any of the oubliettes deep beneath the keep, but invited to share quarters in a tower with a view to the trampled field. Reminded day and night of the loss they would now have to contemplate in more official peace talks. A practical solution from a practical king, but nevertheless an insult to any sensible nobleman.  


"His Majesty expects to see you in his quarters before the bell tolls for the hour, _sir_ ," the Englishman added, as if he hadn't even heard d'Orleans. Without further ado, he turned around, his back offensively turned on the prince, and walked away.  


"The nerve of these people!" The Dauphin exclaimed, tossing his half full goblet across the room, ignoring the deep red blotch its contents left on the wall. "The nerve!"  


Agreeing wholeheartedly, the Dauphin's retainers nodded almost as one, casting knowing looks at each other. They were fully aware of their lord's temper, and none wished to draw his attention by not showing proper shock at the callous summoning.  


"This simply shows us once again what kind of a man Harry England is," d'Orleans muttered, gaining approving murmurs from all around the room.  


"Why would that usurper need to talk to me at this time of the night?" the Dauphin asked out loud, clearly annoyed. "Does he mean to humiliate me by treating me like a dog, who comes running as he whistles?"  


"Surely not! You're the prince! Even he would not dare to do that," d'Orleans said.  


"I believe that after yesterday, he would dare anything." It was muttered by young le Fevre, who had inherited his title the night before as his noble father had finally succumbed to the fate delivered by an English arrow. "The man has no honour."  


"We all know what kind of a man he is."  


Casting a warning look at le Fevre and then the other hotheaded youngsters, d'Orleans shook his head. "We may have heard rumours, but we can not base our worries on idle tales alone."  


Most of the knights chose not to show any agreement to such sentiments.  


Le Fevre shrugged. "There have been too many tales for us to ignore them. How can we let our prince follow his summonings without dread in our hearts? The man claiming to be the king is a brute and a..." Reason only now dawning in his mind, he bit his tongue, seeing the flash of anger in d'Orleans' eyes. "A villain."  


Though sometimes oblivious to the subtleties of the moment, the Dauphin could not miss the all too obvious attempt at subterfuge. "What do you mean?"  


"My lord." Le Fevre could only bow, ashamed. "I did not mean to imply anything, but a man like Harry England inviting you to his private quarters at this hour... I could not help thinking the worst. I apologize."  


Blanching visibly, the Dauphin swayed, as if he had to quench the need to take a step back in fear. "He would not!"  


He did not sound like he believed his own exclamation himself.  


A silence fell in the room, all the young knights casting looks at each other, the few older men looking at d'Orleans for advice, for no one wished to cause their prince displeasure by voicing the thought they all shared.  


"Would he?"  


"The rumour says otherwise, my lord," d'Orleans said. "We know of his favourites, like Scroop of Masham."  


"Yes, and we all know what happened to him," le Fevre muttered.  


The Dauphin looked distressed. "But surely that was only games between fellow soldiers, or unnatural affection between childhood friends. He could not possibly think that I, the son of King Charles..." He made a gesture with his hand, like the rest of the thought was too awful to even voice out loud.  


"Perhaps." d'Orleans nodded. "But this is the man who gathered a peasant army, whose bowmen destroyed thousands of our knights. He may be capable of noble deeds of mercy, but let us not forget the man has a darker side in his nature."  


"We must not allow that to happen!" le Fevre announced hotly.  


The rest of the prince's retainers were anxious to let their opinions be heard as well, all agreeing with le Fevre's sentiments. Their honour was already questioned; they would not have it destroyed like this.  


"I shall send him a message that I am unable to attend to his... wishes tonight," the Dauphin said, looking at d'Orleans for his advice.  


"That might be unwise, my lord." Shaking his head slightly, d'Orleans said, "He has requested your presence, and like it or not, we are his to command now, until the ransoms are negotiated."  


The Dauphin was displeased by the reminder. "I only answer to my father, the king! If Harry England wishes to see someone in his quarters tonight, let someone else go." He glanced around the room. "Let someone else answer his summonings!"  


An uncomfortable silence fell into the room as the men, grown sons of generations of noblemen, some who bore injuries on their bodies, all bearing injury in their souls after witnessing kinsmen and comrades fall dead, tried very hard not to face their prince's glance.  


Unerringly, the Duphin's gaze found the one man who had remained silent by the door. "You."  


There was only one man here who, though distantly of noble blood, bore no title beyond his office. Everyone else in the room was a comrade in arms, an ally, and he could not send any of them to the English king without ruining his own future. As a king, he would need all his vassals to be loyal to him, and not hold grudges, so his only choice was a man who could do him no harm.  


"Your highness," the herald bowed.  


Eyes full of glee, the Dauphin gestured at the herald. "Yes, this is most befitting. _You_ will answer the summons, you will go to Harry England instead."  


The herald looked puzzled, but said nothing. It was not his place to question the prince, or even voice affirmation to this new mission; it was a given that he would go as the prince pleased.  


"You will tell him I send you to him as a show of peace and love between us, between our two countries." Glancing at d'Orleans, the Dauphin added, "And that whatever he would have asked of me, he can have from you with clear conscience. Do you understand?"  


Behind the prince, one of the young noblemen hid a snicker behind his hand.  


Bowing deep, the herald said, "I do, my lord."  


"Is this altogether wise, my prince?" d'Orleans asked carefully, mindful of the Dauphin's temper. "The English king may take offense..."  


"Offense? _Offense?_ It is _I_ who should take offense of his request! He may want a true Frenchman for his amusement, but it shall not be I who submits to his will tonight. If you fear giving offense so much, why not answer his summons yourself?" Face red, the Dauphin  
glared at his companion.  


Wisely, d'Orleans simply lowered his head and said nothing.  


The Dauphin made a negligent gesture with his hand towards the door. "You may go." He didn't bother to wait until the herald was out of the chamber before adding, "We must not keep the king waiting."  


Montjoy the herald bowed his head again and then walked out of the chamber.  


  
   


There was some confusion among the king's guards as the herald stepped out of the quarters assigned to the French. Since the herald was fluent with their native tongue, it was clearly not an error in communication, but the guard sent to escort the crown prince to their king still hesitated before agreeing to take this messenger to his lord.  


Keeping his face impassive, Montjoy waited for the Englishmen to finish arguing amongst themselves, knowing all too well what the outcome would be. Like he, the guards did what their master bid, and since the king had ordered them to bring him their guest, they would obey.  


"Very well then, follow me," the redheaded guard muttered, nodding at him. "You can explain this to his Majesty."  


The other Englishmen seemed happy with that, returning to their lounging against the stone wall, looking tired and half asleep, but underneath it all wary of their guests.  


Montjoy followed the guard through the dark corridors, down the stairs and then up again, towards the king's rooms.  


He was used to matters progressing of their own accord, usually slowly like a snail's crawl over cobblestones, sometimes like a leap of a deer, faster than thought itself, but this time, even he had trouble following the events of the day.  


Joining the Dauphin's entourage, as the only one who could still serve as his voice, to hold onto some semblance of honour and glory, he had been prepared to stand in on the negotiations, to act as the go between. His presence would give everyone the chance to mull things over, to save face when no immediate answer was required.  


Now he was going to the English king, but not as a herald to bring a message, but as an answer to summonings that had not been meant for him.  


He knew men had lost their heads for less.  


Not for the first time, he wished they had not suffered such awful losses in the hands of the English. It was a sentiment all those around him shared, though since he was but a herald, no one would ask for his thoughts. A good thing too, for his thoughts would be seen as treason. He mourned for the loss of those who were slain, who could now raise the voice of reason in the face of total annihilation during the negotiations.  


Gaze firmly on the stone floor, Montjoy followed the English guard. It was of no use to wish he would be spared this small part in the downfall of his country, so he chose not to dwell on it.  


He had faced worse situations, but never with more dread in his heart.  


"Here we are then," the guard muttered as they stopped in front of a heavy door. "He won't like this."  


Montjoy did not reply to that. He knew all too well that the guard was correct. Face set in an expressionless mask, he waited as the guard exchanged a few words with the one standing by the door before rapping on the wood.  


The summons from inside was muffled, but enough for the guard to pull the door open.  


Montjoy steeled himself as the door swung slowly open. Beyond the doorway he could see a large chamber, lit by candles and warmed by a fireplace, the warmth welcome in the late Autumn. A lone man stood in the middle of the room, back turned towards the door as he studied something on a large table. Maps, Montjoy surmised by the bright colours and the pictures he could see even from here.  


"Um... My lord, I have brought the Frenchman," the guard announced, floundering.  


"Good." It was a brisk approval and nothing else.  


Stepping into the chamber, Montjoy kept watching the familiar form so intent on the maps. He did not know if this was a show of dominion over them or simply the way this man was, focused on one task before taking on another. Most likely the latter; from what he had seen of this conqueror, he knew he would not play such games with the defeated.  


King Henry of England tapped his finger against a map on the table once before straightening his back and turning to face the door. His expression was mildly civil, eyes full of cold steel that turned slowly into confusion. "What is this?" He looked from Montjoy to the guard still hesitating at the doorway. "I asked for the French prince, not him."  


"Your majesty, I am sorry," the guard stammered. "The prince couldn't come. He sent him instead, his messenger."  


Montjoy refused to react to the words, standing still, posture showing nothing but calm.  


It was clear that the answer didn't please Henry. "The prince could not come himself?" This time it was addressed to Montjoy.  


"No, your Highness," he replied quietly. The negotiations had barely began, so he had no real knowledge of how to address the conquering lord, but this seemed adequate.  


Henry kept his gaze firm on him, eyes intent and knowing, as alert as always. "And he sent _you_."  


Coming from this man, it almost sounded like a honoured task. "Yes, your Highness."  


"Then it shall be you I conduct my affairs with tonight. Thank you, Wat. You may take your leave now." The king nodded slightly at the guard, the gesture quite unlike the one that had accompanied Montjoy's departure from the tower.  


The guard muttered polite words as he walked out, his tone more familiar than any of the Dauphin's servants would have adopted addressing their lord and master. It seemed Henry did not take offense on such matters.  


Montjoy chose not to read too much in being left alone with the king; he was a mere herald, an unarmed, harmless man who would never even dream of breaking the hesitant peace between his master and the king of England. Yet, there had been betrayals and treason committed against this very man, not so long ago, by men far nobler than Montjoy.  


Surely there should be a guard standing by the door, inside the room as well as there in the corridor, were this a simple interview?  


As the door closed firmly behind the guard, Henry regarded him for a long moment before asking quietly, "Is the prince ill?"  


"No, your Highness."  


"Indisposed?"  


Nodding slightly, Montjoy hoped the king would accept that. He did not wish to lie, for it would be all too easy for the king to find out the truth anyway. Indeed, it already looked like the king knew exactly why he was here.  


"Tell me, good herald, is it true that the prince Dauphin could indeed have answered my summons himself, but he chose not to? That he could actually join me tonight, but would not?" There was a hint of anger in Henry's voice.  


Montjoy said, "I would not presume to know what was not told to me. My master told me to come here and serve in his stead. That is all I know." He prayed the king would not ask more, for he could not betray his master by telling the simple truth.  


"Of course."  


It was all too clear that though no further words were exchanged, the young king of England understood all too well what this meant.  


Montjoy was familiar with royal anger, with slurs and screams and thrown goblets. Somehow the calm way Henry just looked at him was more unnerving than any tantrum. This man would not let matters go, would not forget, but when he reacted, it would be with something more dangerous than idle threats; even his words, when half whispered, could inflict more dread in the listeners than the most lurid descriptions of a battle.  


"It must be such an honour to work for the Dauphin..." Henry muttered quietly.  


At least Montjoy could pretend he had not heard that.  


Henry's gaze was heavy on him, measuring him in a way the king had never before. Like he was taking the measure of him as a man and not as a messenger, seeing through the tabard of his office, underneath the colours he wore.  


Forcing himself to stand still, looking straight ahead like a statue, Montjoy waited.  


"I wonder if you will do..." the king muttered, taking half a step closer still.  


Montjoy swallowed.  


Never before had he been forced into a situation quite like this. Younger, a scholarly boy, he had followed the daily routines in his uncle's household, only dreaming of the far away lands he might one day visit, an insignificant son of a younger son, fit for labour and nothing more. Later, when he had taken on the duty of delivering messages across the country and then far beyond, the man carrying the words of his master had been next to nothing himself.  


He had never mattered, and he had always chosen to take that as a compliment, finding refuge behind his office.  


Now it seemed that at least one man wished to see beyond that.  


"Come, follow me."  


Montjoy looked across the room, at the table, at the large bed beyond it, the dark red covers slightly mussed. He took a careful step to follow the king, heart pounding in his chest.  


Any offense towards him would be an offense towards his master, but hadn't the Dauphin given Henry his leave to do what he would with him? He had not uttered a word of his master's message yet, for Henry had not asked for it, but that hardly mattered. Perhaps the night would proceed to deeds without such words, for they would surely only tarnish the one who had uttered them in the first place.  


"You must have traveled extensively in your office as the royal herald, Montjoy." The name came out effortlessly, like there was nothing unusual for a king to remember such an insignificant thing as his name. "So you must know the ways of the world."  


"Yes, your Highness," Montjoy said. "I have and I do."  


"Good. Tell me, have you ever been to the royal court of Hungary? Have you ever spoken to the king?"  


Montjoy looked at Harry England who was leaning with one hand against the table, like it was exactly where he'd wanted him to follow. "I... I beg your pardon, your Highness?"  


He looked at the king, then glanced at the bed. Then he looked down at the table, where Henry's hand was resting right in the middle of the slightly faded image of the continent.  


Henry had already turned away from him. "Sigismund of Hungary. Have you ever been to his court?"  


Blinking, Montjoy tried to collect his thoughts back from the course they had been taking ever since the Dauphin's tantrum. "I..." He swallowed the rest, unwilling to let the confusion overwhelm him. "Yes, your Highness. I have."  


"And why do you sound so nervous?"  


"I apologize, your Highness. I did not expect that question." He had not expected any questions.  


Henry looked up from the map, eyes curious. "What question did you expect then?" He sounded genuinely baffled.  


"I had no expectations," Montjoy said, and it was such a lie he felt ashamed.  


Young the king might be, but a fool he was not. "Do you fear me, good herald?" Curiosity gone, his gaze was troubled. "I struck you down once, unbidden, and God knows I should not have caused such injury to an unarmed man, a battlefield or not..."  


Montjoy shook his head, horrified, and had he dared, he would have interrupted the man in front of him.  


"... but I swear to you, I will never raise my hand against you again."  


"I know, your Highness." Grief and pain and horrors of the battle had made it understandable, and for that offense against his office, and his person, Montjoy had never demanded satisfaction. Not even an apology. The king's tears in the mud had been more than enough. "I know."  


Relieved, Henry nodded, accepting his words. But there was still a shadow lurking in his gaze, betraying a worry deeper than that. "Then why does my presence affect you so?"  


"I..." For the first time in his adult life, Montjoy was truly speechless. He cast a glance at the map, at the bed, and then looked down on the stone floor underneath his feet, knowing all too well he could never explain it to the king.  


The muttered oath escaping the king sounded very loud in the quiet room.  


"Herald Montjoy. Look at me." It was a command and it could not be denied.  


Montjoy looked up. "Your Highness." His words were never his own, not when talking to kings and lords, but palace intrigue had taught him many lessons in life. His tongue should not be tied like this. A few chosen words, a merry jest perhaps, and the king would never have suspected any wrong doing.  


Polite phrases exchanged between the rulers of great nations were one thing, but when the words were his own, he did not wish to lie to this man.  


"Why does it trouble you to look at me now that you have seen me in the deepest throes of desperation? Why do you fear this room, or is it the bed that causes such terror in your eyes?" Henry gestured at the aforementioned piece of furniture.  


"I can not say, your Highness," was all Montjoy managed to stammer.  


"You will speak the truth." And this was the steely eyed king who had sent thousands to their graves. "You will tell me..." Henry paused. "Why did the Dauphin send you when I specifically asked for _his_ presence here?"  


Worse than any personal shame. Montjoy could have lived with this king's displeasure, but what he demanded of him was treason. But had the Dauphin not already forced him on this course? "The Dauphin sent me as a show of peace and love between him and your Highness, between our two countries," he recited by heart. "What ever you would have asked of him, you can have from me, with clear conscience."  


"With clear conscience," Henry repeated, quietly. "Now tell me, herald, what did the prince think I would ask of him?"  


Montjoy knew the king would notice even the slightest of evasions, but he could not say it like it was, like he had heard the Dauphin and his lords spell it out. "The prince Dauphin did not say; he could not conceive any possible reason you might desire his company at this hour of the night, your Highness."  


He had seen Henry of England bruised and bleeding, on his knees in the mud and shaking with rage and despair. Somehow that had been easier to face than this, even when his own death had briefly stared him right in the eyes.  


More a soldier than a politician, Henry didn't even try to hide his mind, a puzzled frown wrinkling his forehead for a long moment before realization wiped it away.  


"The prince..." For all the inspiring words Henry had managed earlier to his troops, to his retinue, now he couldn't squeeze one simple sentence out without having to pause to think. "Your master thought I would summon him for... What? To ridicule him, to humiliate him?" His voice lowered dangerously. "For some illicit pleasure of mine?"  


Montjoy flinched. He wanted to apologize, but he had learned a long ago never to apologize for anyone else's actions without specific orders. "It was not the Dauphin alone." It was terrible weakness to explain things like this, but he couldn't let the blame fall solely on his master, for the king's son carried upon himself the destiny of their whole country. "All his youthful comrades were equally concerned."  


Better it be a group of young men whose folly was not arrogance but too wild an imagination that would carry the blame and shame than the prince Dauphin himself.  


Honest astonishment was clear on Henry's face, turning his whole demeanor boyish, too young to have accomplished half of what he had on field. "They thought I had summoned the Dauphin here so I could use him ill, against his will, against every code of chivalry?" He shook his head, like he couldn't believe what he was suggesting.  


"Yes, your highness," Montjoy nodded, ashamed.  


"And so the prince chose to send you in his stead."  


Montjoy could only nod again, for he couldn't find any words to answer.  


"Whatever regard I may have held towards that man, who was not only my sworn enemy on the battlefield, but my royal cousin as well, I can not say," Henry muttered. "But I do know there is none after this."  


Montjoy shuddered at the icy sound of the king's voice.  


Worse than the cold condemnation the king lay upon his prince were his own thoughts betraying his oath of fealty. He could not disagree with the English king, and though his thoughts went no further than his own soul, it was a betrayal nevertheless.  


"So be it, then." Henry squared his shoulders, looking determined. "He has chosen to hand me your services, and I will gladly accept them." Stepping back, he lowered himself to a chair, lounging there almost indulgently.  


Montjoy jolted, just a small lapse of his control, before he could mold his face back to its usual mask. He hadn't imagined the matter could be solved by words only, but somehow he had thought the king of England would be better than this. The warrior king showing mercy at Harfleur would not demand this of the conquered. Harry England might be ruthless on battlefield, but even then, bloodied, half covered in mud, he had lacked all the qualities that turned a man into a monster.  


But maybe every man had their limits, the distance beyond which they could not see clearly.  


"As you wish," Montjoy muttered quietly, bowing his head.  


Belatedly he realized he had forgone all proper ways of addressing the man, but he couldn't bring himself to look up again. The bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth, he stood there, wondering how the king expected him to obey his wishes, if he expected Montjoy to do something or if he simply wanted him to submit to any way the king wished to take his pleasure from his body.  


"Come now, man!" Henry half laughed. "Don't look like that." The laughter died, followed by a contemplative, "And if you dare to suggest I would mistreat you as revenge against your master, you will offend me mightily."  


Montjoy looked up immediately, wondering if he'd heard correctly. "Your Highness?"  


All he could see was the king, still lounging in his chair, leaning forward with his hands crossed between his knees. There was a strange look in his eyes as he waited for something, for some show of understanding.  


"I mean, I would never offend you like that, your Highness." Montjoy bowed deep.  


Keeping his head bent down for a while to hide the amusement he couldn't keep completely off his face, he could never tell if the faint cough he heard was genuine, or if he'd made the king laugh.  


His heart was soaring with relief. Such a foolish thing to fear, though maybe his faith in this man was even more so.  


When he straightened his back, Henry looked grave again.  


Shaking his head slightly, Henry said, "What I ask of you may be harder for you to give than any other boon. Your prince thought to send you here to be owned by me, and it would not be courteous of me to decline such a grand gift."  


Montjoy did not know how to respond to that, for he did not follow the meaning of Henry's words.  


"Your service." Henry stood up and took a few steps to stand right in front of him, clapping his shoulder firmly with one strong hand. "Not servicing me in whatever lewd action your prince imagined in his twisted mind, but to bear my colours. By all rights you, as a herald, are not considered spoils of war, but tonight you certainly were treated as such by your own countrymen. Would you, by all conscience, still wish to be the voice of the Dauphin after such an insult?"  


Eyes wide, Montjoy looked at the king standing so close to him, realizing he was offering him something far more familiar than a romp in bed. Work for England? There had been others who had asked him to join their service, by the strength of their command or by the wealth of their purse, and every time it would have been a betrayal.  


Never before had the betrayal preceded the offer.  


"I... I am a herald, your Highness." The title alone was all the explanation needed. "I can not be insulted." Any and all insults flung at him were insults towards his master.  


Henry shook his head firmly. "You're a man, Montjoy. Your prince did not send you to me as a herald, he sent you to me as a man, to be used. Even if I were to see his actions as you suggest, as a flame of youthful fear fueled by doubts offered by his retainers, I would see a craven man soiling his own reputation and inflicting offense against his own country and his father the king."  


Any other man would indeed feel the offense, of that Montjoy was certain, though he could only mourn for his country. He had no words to respond to the king.  


Sighing, Henry ran a weary hand through his tousled hair. "I am troubled by tonight's events, I can not deny that. The Dauphin is even less of a leader than I had thought, and..." He shook his head, as if realising they were not the kinds of thoughts one should voice around others. "I must consider my future actions more carefully now."  


Montjoy wished he could see the young, pompous usurper here, the worthless son of a warmonger. Right now, he wished more than anything that he could see Henry as an enemy, that he would not be so completely betrayed by his own heart.  


"But before we can address the future, we must finish what this night has brought upon us." Henry leaned forward a little, eyes intent on Montjoy. "Speak freely to me now. Your prince has unwisely offered me your services and I would gladly accept them. But I will not reward bravery and honesty with treachery. If you feel your allegiance must remain with your king, I will not ask for you to serve England."  


It was not a herald's place to choose this! Couldn't Henry see that?  


When it became clear that Montjoy could not say anything, Henry said quietly, "If I tell your prince I accept his most gracious offer and henceforth expect you to wear my colours, what will that gain me? A loyal man to be my voice or a man offended and injured unnecessarily by a whim of a king?"  


That, Montjoy could finally answer. "I would be honoured to be your voice, my lord." The decision made where one could only be made with a heavy heart.  


Henry nodded. "Then I shall read the Dauphin's actions tonight as an offer, an opening of negotiations and a show of good faith and shall take no offense in his sending you in his stead."  


"Thank you." All other flowery speech escaped Montjoy this once, and the words came out with genuine feeling of gratitude. "My lord."  


This was more than he'd dared to hope for, both for himself and for France.  


Smiling, Henry made a negligent little gesture with his hand as if to brush the gratitude away. "I have no doubt you will serve England faithfully."  


Since this man was England, it was not too great a promise to make. Montjoy nodded.  


"We will speak again tomorrow then." Casting a look at the maps, Henry mused, "It may well be your first task to convey my message to my brother king of Hungary, for talks of peace. Such a great sorrow to see us all gather around a table to negotiate for times of peace only after such bloody deeds."  


Montjoy cast a questioning look at the king, but held his tongue.  


"No, gentle herald. Do not hesitate to ask the question I can see in your eyes already," Henry said, "I would not wish for your silence."  


"My lord, I would never question your decision. I simply wonder the involvement of such a far away nation." Yet even as he voiced his wonder, Montjoy couldn't help but to see the wisdom in such decision. Wise as his lord of Burgundy was, he, as all who lived near this fair country, was perhaps too close to this sad business that had torn France for centuries. "Ah."  


Henry smiled. "Yes. I would have a treaty of succession signed by us all to end the long wretched war for once and for all."  


Such accords would indeed be a blessing, though the road to reaching even the negotiations would be hard. Montjoy bowed his head again, uncertain of how he should respond.  


"I believe we both need a good night's rest before such a journey can be planned. I will not hold you longer here." It was a dismissal as clear as any. "There should be rooms available along this very corridor. Tell Wat I do not wish you to return to the French and that he should find you a suitable chamber for the night."  


Relieved he would not have to face the Dauphin and the other nobles right now, with his head and heart too full of conflicting thoughts and emotions, Montjoy hesitated for just a moment, waiting for the actual words of dismissal. When there were none, only an expectant look on Henry's face, he nodded and walked towards the door.  


It was only a few steps across the floor, but Montjoy's feet felt heavy, reluctant to take him out of these chambers.  


"Herald," Henry called out.  


Montjoy turned to look at him. "Yes, my lord?"  


Henry had lowered himself back in the chair, sitting there with a pensive air of a man who was troubled by something. Montjoy couldn't even begin to guess what it would be. The king had fought a great battle only days ago, weighed down by the injuries of his men and the losses, and yet he had the mind to care for something as small as a man still wearing his opponent's colours.  


"You should know that there are many ugly rumours about me, and undoubtedly most have at least a hint of truth in them." The twist of Henry's lips showed that he knew exactly what was said of him, and that he couldn't deny the rumours, not even in the silence of his own room.  


"I..." The candor of the king's words made Montjoy hesitate for just a moment, the polite mask slipping again. He looked into the tired blue eyes, seeing that this once he would be called to regard the great king as just a man, and chose to answer candor with candor. "Yes, my lord."  


A faint smile appeared on Henry's lips. "Of course. I would be a fool to think the word hasn't reached most ears in both of our countries by now." He shook his head. "I may have chosen badly in the past, and could say it was due to the recklessness of youth, but I would not demean this moment with such a blatant lie."  


Montjoy knew he was gaping now, mouth open with surprise. He was well versed in diplomacy, in barbs and cleverly phrased insults that could turn the course of whole nations, but he wasn't used to this; such men as Henry of England never said a thing like that to someone so far beneath him.  


"You should know this; whenever I choose to share my bed with another, I do not issue orders, and I do not expect the obedience to a king." A flicker of something moved across Henry's face, just a hint of hurt or a memory, and then it disappeared as fast as it had come. "Only the courtesy to a fellow man."  


Closing his mouth firmly, Montjoy nodded his head in half a bow.  


He could understand that, though such sentiments from a man holding so much power were strange to him.  


Henry waited for a long moment before adding quietly, "Had I asked you tonight, I would have accepted a simple no, and there had been no offense, not to the king. Only fond regrets to the man."  


Montjoy looked at the king, at his earnest expression, and knew he would not overstep the bounds of decency when he said just as quietly, "I will remember that, my lord."  


He did not know if there would ever be such an offer, but he knew by now, that if one day he was given the chance to share more with this man, he would not cause any regrets, to either one of them.  


Waiting for just a moment for a response that never came, he opened the door and stepped into the torchlit corridor.  



End file.
